


Malcolm Bright and the Three Miners

by just_another_outcast



Series: Malcolm is a Disney Princess [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Bad Parent Martin Whitly, Brightwell, Cheesy, F/M, Gen, Good Parent Gil Arroyo, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Disney, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Poisoning, Snow White AU, Temporary Character Death, True Love's Kiss, fairytale AU, implication of the murder of a mother and unborn child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28645203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_outcast/pseuds/just_another_outcast
Summary: King Martin is a jealous king, and seeks to have Prince Malcolm killed. Malcolm's only hope is that whoever lives in the cottage will let him stay with them until he can figure out what to do, lest he never see Princess Dani again.(The Snow White AU that no one asked for)
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Series: Malcolm is a Disney Princess [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099247
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	Malcolm Bright and the Three Miners

**Author's Note:**

> I still can't believe I wrote this. I hope you love it as much as I do though lol. Enjoy, and please leave a review :)

"Servant in the magic mirror, come from the farthest space through wind and darkness. I summon you." A gust of wind emphasized his words. A figure slowly emerged in the mirror, the cloudy visage falling away to reveal a spectre inside.

"What would you have me tell you, my king?"

"Magic mirror on the wall, who could be the greatest ruler of them all?" King Martin asked. He flourished his cape around him, adding to a façade of confidence that he did not feel. His son would be a threat sooner or later, and Martin was growing concerned that the powers that be would confirm that fear. Nonetheless, he had to ask. If Malcolm was going to be a real threat, then Martin needed him dealt with immediately.

"Famed is your reign, your majesty, but there is another, one of pure heart and loving countenance, who will be a much greater ruler than you," the mirror answered, the being's words monotone and emotionless. The spectre kept its stone cold expression, even as Martin's face twisted up in rage.

"Who?" he asked in a growl, although he feared he already knew the answer.

"They call him Bright, for the kindness he shows to others and his enthusiasm for every moment of every day."

Martin banished the mirror with a curse. It was his worthless son after all. Malcolm was nothing like him. Martin had tried and tried to mold Malcolm into someone worthy of being his son, but the boy was simply incorrigible. Nothing Martin did made an impact. His efforts were wasted on a son that cared nothing for conquering or war or progress. All Malcolm cared about was his kingdom’s people, but that blinded him to everything else. How someone so weak and soft could ever be a great ruler was beyond him, beyond anything he could understand even with such power at his fingertips. But if Malcolm was such a threat, then he needed to die. Martin would have him dealt with most severely.

...

Malcolm softly sang to himself as he walked along the wall at the borders of the palace grounds. The birds flew above him, echoing his sweet singing. Malcolm smiled as he watched them fly around each other in a dance until finally landing right next to each other on a nearby branch. Squirrels ran up and down the trees, taking his attention. They played and jumped and searched for acorns, unbothered by Malcolm's presence or his singing. The prince loved those sweet moments of solitude, with no one around to hear his voice.

"I knew you'd be here," a feminine voice came from the top of the wall, interrupting Malcolm's song. Malcolm's gaze darted towards her, but he smiled upon seeing who it was. Princess Daniela was from the neighboring kingdom, and she was the most beautiful girl that Malcolm had ever seen. She was also his best friend. They'd played together for years, and were always able to find time to slip away from their guards to see each other every now and then. Malcolm loved her. "I listened to you sing for a while, but you deserved to know I was here," she continued with a shrug. Dani was sitting on top of the wall, her dress showing the wear and tear from her climbing trees and rocks to get up there. It wasn't distinguished of a princess to be so daring, but Dani had never been one to do what was expected of her. That was one of the many things that Malcolm loved about her.

"If I'd known you were listening, I would've stopped singing," Malcolm said with a blush. He crossed his arms and leaned up against a tree. The birds remained on the branch above him, but the squirrels scurried up the wall to sit a few paces away from the princess.

"That's why I didn't let you know," Dani replied with a smile. "Your voice is beautiful." She said it as if were plain as day, but her words still caused Malcolm to smile and blush fiercely. He looked away from her and shook his head. "Anyway, I should be getting back to my guards. I just wanted to see you," she said, shrugging.

"A visit from Princess Daniela is always appreciated," Malcolm responded. He couldn't think of anything else to say that didn't reveal how deeply he cared about her. Being too forward was frowned upon, especially as a prince. He couldn't choose who he wanted to marry. That was all up to his father, the king. Perhaps his mother would've let him choose, but she had been gone for so many years that Malcolm was beginning to forget the sound of her voice and the color of her eyes. She was gone and she'd taken Malcolm's sibling with her, before Malcolm had even gotten the chance to meet them. Queen Jessica had been hoping for a little girl, wanting to name her Ainsley. Every day, Malcolm wondered what it would've been like to have a little sister to love and play with. His father had said that his mother had been too weak, and that's why she and the baby didn't make it. Malcolm had known his mother to be the strongest woman around, queen or otherwise, but he could not dispute his father's words. He had no way of knowing why else he never got to see her again. One day, Queen Jessica and her unborn child were just gone, and the only thing Malcolm could do was listen to his father about what happened, and cry at the funeral. He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.

"Until next time, Bright," Dani said with a fond smile and a wave before she swung her legs around to the other side of the wall and slipped out of view.

Malcolm grinned ear to ear at the nickname. It had been years since he'd been saddled with it, but he loved it most when Dani spoke it. She was so unbearably beautiful. Malcolm could only ever wish for her.

...

"Take him far into the forest," Martin ordered. "To some dark and secluded glade, where he can admire nature or whatever it is he likes to do." He rolled his eyes. His son was far too soft to even be called his son.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Mr. David answered with a bow. He was a quiet, but loyal servant.

"And then, you'll kill him," Martin continued with a disinterested gaze at a speck of dirt under his fingernail.

"But, Your Majesty, the prince, he's just a boy, he's your son-."

"Quiet," Martin ordered, glaring at the man. Mr. David rarely refused him, and Martin preferred to keep it that way. "You know what will become of you if you refuse. To ensure you do the task, I want you to bring me back his heart, in this." Martin held up a small box, complete with a knife going through a heart engraved onto it. Martin smiled as he held it out to Mr. David, whose eyes were wide and hands were shaking, but was reaching out to take it nonetheless.

"It will be done, Your Majesty," he replied. He gave another bow, but Martin had the feeling that it was more out of shame than respect. But that was alright. Martin didn't need the man to feel good about it, he just needed the job done, and he was too busy ruling a kingdom to do it himself this time. He smiled again. Soon, his pesky brat of a son would be gone.

...

Malcolm slowly crept closer to the bunny. It was still a few paces away, happily chewing on some grass. Malcolm didn't want to scare it, but he did want to see it better. It was cute, and he could only imagine how soft it would be. Birds sang overhead, filling the trees with their beautiful songs. He could hear squirrels chittering and running from tree to tree, living their lives in blissful ignorance of the world around them.

Malcolm still wasn't sure why exactly Mr. David had insisted that he was to go out into the forest, but Malcolm knew better than to question orders from his father. The pain of causing his father's rage wasn't worth it. Still, he appreciated the time spent in nature nonetheless, far more than his father ever did. Malcolm let out a chuckle as the squirrels chased each other in play, running around him in circles as they did so. They ran up a boulder and out of sight, but a shadow grew - the shadow of someone brandishing a knife. Malcolm quickly turned, then stumbled back against the boulder with a gasp. He held up his arms as if to defend himself, but Malcolm wasn't the one who gave a cry of pain.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," Mr. David said around a sob of desperation. The man fell to his knees, dropping the knife as he hunched over the ground and sobbed. "I can't, I can't do it," he repeated, shaking his head.

"What's going on?" Malcolm asked. He slowly lowered his hands, but he hesitated before taking a step closer to Mr. David. The man had never once hurt him in the past, but now, Malcolm's shaking hand was proof that that had almost changed.

"He ordered me to do it," Mr. David replied, his sobs easing. "You're growing up, getting old enough to become a threat. He ordered me to cut out your heart."

Malcolm felt his heart drop into his stomach. It was his father. It had to be his father. There wasn't anyone else it could be. Malcolm could only be thankful that Mr. David hadn't gone through with it.

"The king?" he asked in confirmation.

Mr. David nodded. "You have to run, my prince. It's not safe for you at the palace. You have to go, now!" He shoved Malcolm, making him stumble back a step. Malcolm shook his head and opened his mouth to argue, but Mr. David beat him to it. "Go, boy! He won't stop 'til you're dead. Now, go!" he yelled with another shove.

This time, Malcolm nodded, and took a few stumbling steps backwards, deeper into the dark forest. Mr. David shouted for him to run again, urging Malcolm on into a sprint. Malcolm ran and ran, ignoring the branches that scratched his skin and tore his fine tunic and caught in his hair. Every shadow was an assassin. Every bird moving in the trees, someone with a bow trained on him. He wasn't safe. His father was going to have him killed. There could have been others after him in that very moment.

Malcolm ran and ran and ran. He stumbled through a stream, crying out in terror at an alligator with its maw open and teeth stretching out to take a bite. He scrambled up and off the bank, scrambling backwards until he hit a tree. The alligator wasn't moving. It wasn't an alligator at all, only a horribly placed log with little light shining onto it. Malcolm pulled his knees up to his chest as the first tear fell. He was so blind with terror that he was seeing danger where there wasn't any. He was a danger to himself if he couldn't get a grip.

He hugged his legs close to him as he cried. His father wanted him dead. The same man that had read him bedtime stories so very long ago was now seeking his murder. The king wanted his heart, his physical, actual heart. Malcolm muffled his sobs into his arm. Despite his father's evergrowing cruelty towards him, Malcolm still loved the man, somehow. He wasn't sure how, or why, but there were such fond memories from before he became so cruel that Malcolm had always held onto. He kept holding onto them. He didn't want to let them go, even when the evidence of just how much his father hated him was staring him in the face.

Malcolm forced himself to take a deep breath. He needed to calm down. Nothing was going to change by sitting there and sobbing and being scared. He took another deep breath, and began to softly sing to himself the same lullaby that he heard in every dream about his mother. Though he kept his voice quiet, birds soon began to pick up the tune, and their song quickly joined his. Malcolm smiled as he continued to sing. His fear was slowly receding, and he wasn't shaking quite as badly. Everything was going to be alright. He didn't know how yet, but it would.

With another deep breath, Malcolm stood on unsteady legs. He forced himself to walk, and to think. His first order of business needed to be to find somewhere to sleep. The sky was quickly turning dark with the oncoming evening, and Malcolm didn't want to have to sleep alone in the woods. He walked and walked, remaining on the lookout for a cave or tree large enough to build something against or something of the sort. Birds followed him, singing their evening songs as they went.

Just as Malcolm was growing fearful that he may actually have to stay the night with nothing but the forest around him, the trees began to thin. He jogged to the clearing up ahead, breathing a sigh of relief at the realization that there was a cottage in the clearing. The deer in the clearing didn't so much as take a single step back as Malcolm carefully walked down the hill and towards the cottage.

It was dark inside. Malcolm knocked on the door anyway, but the door swung open. It hadn't been closed very tightly. Hesitantly, Malcolm took a step inside.

"Hello?" he called out. Silence greeted him. He gazed around the dark cottage. People definitely lived there, but they clearly weren't the tidiest people around. Of course, having grown up in a palace, Malcolm was used to a standard of cleanliness that few could ascribe to. Still, Malcolm would sleep on a dirt floor if he had to, without complaining. But he couldn't even ask. There was no one there. Was he supposed to wait outside? It was getting rather cold, and there was a fireplace that could provide much needed warmth and comfort. If there were ever a time for warmth and comfort, it was after an attempted murder.

Malcolm glanced around again. If he was going to light a fire, then he needed to do something to make up for it. He supposed he could clean the place up some, or maybe cook some food. Maybe then, he could convince whoever lived there to let him stay the night. He didn't want to scare them, but Malcolm didn't know exactly what he was supposed to do in this sort of situation. It wasn't exactly something that he'd ever been prepared for, even theoretically, in his entire life. All he could do was be as kind as he could, and hope for the best.

He began with lighting the fireplace. The immediate warmth that sank into his bones instantly calmed his nerves. Everything was going to be fine. He would figure it out. With that added light and warmth, cleaning came next. Sweeping and dusting and washing didn't take too long, leaving Malcolm to his last task: cooking. He took a look in the cupboards and pantry and pulled out what he guessed one might need to make soup. Malcolm had never done it before himself, but he figured it couldn't be too difficult. He just hoped it wouldn't taste too terrible.

Malcolm left it simmering in the cauldron, then left to search the rest of the cottage for anything else he could take care of for them. The only room upstairs was a bedroom, with three beds in it. Malcolm wouldn't touch it. He just felt that that was probably a step too far. He made his way back downstairs and over to the bay window. The fading twilight was quickly being replaced by the light of the moon and stars. Malcolm sat down on the cushioned seating, and stared up at the constellations across the night sky. They were truly beautiful.

It didn't take long for his eyelids to grow heavier, and heavier, and heavier. Malcolm allowed himself to move further down on the cushions, almost horizontal. Maybe he could rest his eyes for just a few minutes. It was so warm in there, and the cushion was so soft. A few minutes of peace couldn't hurt. Just a few minutes...

...

Gil wiped the sweat from his brow and took a long sip of water from his canteen. It had to be getting dark outside. The light of the lit torches shined over his pile of uncut gems he'd managed to pry from the confines of the rock surrounding him. Hopefully, at least a few of them would be worth something at the market. Gil always hoped they would be, and he was never let down, but still, he wouldn't let himself get too assured of his success. Things could change at any given moment.

He stood still and listened. He could no longer hear the telltale sounds of the echoes of a pickaxe. JT and Edrisa had to be done as well. Picking up the bucket of gemstones, Gil made his way out of the tunnel, extinguishing each torch as he did so. He didn't want to waste any of their fuel, or draw any attention to their mine. It was backbreaking work for three people to run a mine, but Gil didn't want anyone else to know its location. So far, everyone he'd sold gemstones to seemed content with that. As long as Gil and his team could bring them more gemstones to refine, they were content to let him live in secrecy.

JT and Edrisa were waiting for him at the entrance of the mine, each one holding their own bucket of rough gems.

"I'm ready for some food," JT muttered as he led the way towards the storeroom. Each of them set their buckets down in there, then Gil closed the door and locked it behind him, shoving the key in his pocket.

"I could sleep for a week," Edrisa added, wiping the sweat off her own brow. Some days were more backbreaking than others. Gil had been hesitant at first to let Edrisa work with them, but the small woman had proven that, with training, she was just as capable of a miner as he and JT were. Besides, it was nice to have a healer around, even a healer that had been accused of witchcraft - unjustly, likely due to her age and single status - and banished from her home. She'd stumbled upon their cottage in much the same way that JT had, and Gil before him.

"I guess going back an hour later tomorrow wouldn't hurt," Gil said. He hopped up onto his horse, and waited for JT and Edrisa to do the same before the three of them took off for home. Their horses were loyal, and the three of them came up out of the mine enough for some fresh air and sunshine that leaving them alone while they worked wasn't an issue.

Their small cottage soon appeared before them, just barely visible through the trees. Gil couldn't help but smile at the sight of it. That cottage truly had a way of attracting lost people with nowhere else to go. When Gil came across it, he'd been grieving the death of his beloved wife, and had felt that life had lost all purpose. But the cottage had been very clearly abandoned for quite some time. Gil put his heart and soul into fixing it up, and came across the mine in just the same way. Everything he needed was being provided for him, almost as if by magic.

It wasn't long after Gil had finished repairing the cottage that JT had stumbled onto the property. He was a young soldier of a conquered kingdom, escaping what would surely be a prison sentence for being on the "wrong side". After proving what a loyal man and diligent worker he was, Gil let him stay. Edrisa had been much the same. She'd had nowhere else to go after being banished, and neither JT nor Gil could let a small woman like herself go alone back out into the woods. Now, the three of them were a pseudo-family, a team, and they didn't want things to change.

As the cottage came further into view, Gil realized that something was wrong. The fireplace was lit.

"Woah," he said, causing his horse to stop. JT and Edrisa quickly followed suit.

"What's wrong?" JT asked.

Gil pointed. "Look. The light's lit. There's someone in our house." Slowly, they continued on, but dismounted from their horses further away than they usually would. Gil held his pickaxe by his side, prepared to defend himself and his family if they need arose. "Stay quiet, and stay behind me," he ordered in a whisper. JT gave an immediate nod in the affirmative, his own pickaxe held in a light grip. Edrisa was reaching for her own, but her hand was shaking. She grabbed on to JT's tunic instead, keeping herself right behind the much larger man. She was a healer, not a fighter.

Gil slowly opened the door, thankful it didn't creak. A cursory look told him everything and nothing. The fireplace was lit, and a cauldron was hung over it, the wonderful smell of dinner wafting through the air. Gil and his family weren't exactly slobs, but they were often much too tired after a long day of working in the mine to be bothered to clean much. From the way the cottage looked, no one would've known. It was spotless, with everything in its place. Who would break in and clean? Then cook dinner? He walked further inside, JT and Edrisa right behind him.

"I've got upstairs," JT whispered, moving out from behind Gil and making his way towards the staircase. He'd disregarded Gil's order to stay behind him, but to his credit, he'd been a solider before, and Gil hadn't. Edrisa was now gripping Gil's tunic, but he couldn't exactly push her away. Gil turned fully to the right, scanning across the room. There didn't seem to be anyone there. He walked further into the house, then turned to the left to close the door behind him.

Gil froze. There was someone there. On the cushioned seating under the bay window was a boy, no older than sixteen, perhaps even younger. He was sound asleep, curled up in a fetal position, with his arm as a pillow. He looked cold.

"Hey!" JT shouted from the stairs as he came barreling down towards them, his eyebrows twisted in anger. The boy shot up, then scurried back until his back was pressed against the window. He held his arms up as if to protect himself.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" the boy cried out, ducking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. JT reached out to grab him, but Gil shot his arm across to halt his movements.

"Wait," he said. This time, JT listened to him, and took a step back, but he didn't lose the fury in his gaze. Gil turned back to the terrified boy. "Who are you?" he asked. The boy was much too young to be on his own, but his clothes were very fine. They were dirty and torn, but of the highest quality - definitely not something a destitute orphan could afford.

Slowly, the boy lowered his arms, though his hand continued to shake more than Edrisa's did. He turned back to them, and opened his eyes. They were piercing blue, so blue that one could get lost in them.

"I'm Malcolm Whitly, and I'm so sorry. I don't have anywhere else to go," he insisted, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Malcolm Whitly, the prince?" Edrisa asked in shock, stepping out from behind Gil. All of the fear was gone from her voice. Only curiosity remained. The boy nodded. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I don't care why he's here," JT answered before Malcolm could. "He has a palace and servants and a kingdom and everything he could ever need. So I think all he needs to do is get out." JT turned back to Malcolm with that anger still in his eyes.

"No! I can't," Malcolm cried out. "He'll kill me, I can't go back." He shook his head vehemently.

"I don't care."

"JT," Gil ground out through clenched teeth. He knew why JT hated the royal family and their kingdom so much, but Malcolm was only a boy. It wasn't his fault that JT's kingdom had been conquered by Malcolm's father. The boy didn't deserve JT's wrath. He turned back to Malcolm, forcing his expression to soften. "Tell me what's going on. Who's going to kill you if you go home?" he asked, trying his best to keep his voice calming and gentle. Gil took a seat next to the boy on the soft cushions, putting himself closer to eye level instead of towering over him.

Malcolm turned away, looking at the floor instead of at any of them. "My father, the king," he said, almost in a whisper. "He tried to have me killed today, but Mr. David wouldn't go through with it. He told me to run, so I ran and I ran and I just kept running, and then, I found this cottage." He slowly looked back up at them. "There was no one here, but I was so cold-."

"So you broke in?" JT asked with a scoff and a shake of his head.

"No- yes- the door was unlocked, and I didn't have anywhere else to go. I tried to be helpful, I cleaned up everything for you, I made you some soup for dinner, it should be ready now. I didn't know what else to do to ask you to let me stay, just for tonight." Malcolm hugged his knees to his chest, his gaze darting between Gil, JT, and Edrisa.

"Why does your father want you dead?" Gil couldn't help but ask. Malcolm turned back to him.

"He thinks I'm a threat to him. I'm not the son he wishes I was. I'm not like him. He thinks I'll usurp the throne," he said with a shrug. Despite only knowing the prince for a handful of minutes, Gil doubted that highly. Malcolm seemed like a kind, pure hearted boy - definitely not the type to murder his father for early access to the throne.

"The soup over there," Edrisa said, gesturing toward the cauldron. "You made it?"

Malcolm nodded. "I've never cooked before, but I've watched. I think I did it right. I'm sorry if it's not good, I just wanted to help."

"It's okay, Your Highness. You can stay," Gil said. "I'm Gil Arroyo, this is Edrisa Tanaka, and JT Tarmel."

"You don't have to call me that," Malcolm replied with a blush. "Just Malcolm is fine. Some people also call me Bright."

JT grabbed on to Gil's shoulder and pulled him away a few paces. "What are you doing?" he asked. "If the king really wants to kill him, he'll find us here and kill us too," he insisted, fire in his eyes.

"He's just a kid, we can't send him out into the woods at night," Gil fired back. "We'll all be safe for one night. We can figure out what to do later. But for tonight, he stays. Or are you forgetting how you ended up here?" Gil glared at JT, then walked back to Malcolm, who was eagerly talking with Edrisa. It was easy to see why people called him Bright. His entire face lit up with his smile, his blue eyes shining like the sun on ocean waves. "Let's try out that soup of yours, shall we?"

...

The king lounged back in his throne. The room was deserted, save for the magic mirror. This time, it would answer as Martin wanted.

"Magic mirror on the wall, who could now be the greatest ruler of all?" he asked with a smirk. His useless son was dead, leaving Martin as the greatest possible ruler once again. It was always questioned whether it was better to be feared or loved. Malcolm would've answered in the latter, but Martin was proof that the prior could be the greatest just as well.

"Over the three jeweled hills, beyond the third fall, in the cottage of the three miners, dwells Malcolm the Bright, who will be the greatest ruler of all," the mirror answered, its voice just as monotone and emotionless as it always was.

Martin's blood boiled and his face twisted in rage once again at the mirror's implication. "Malcolm Whitly is dead. Mr. David killed him. I hold his heart in this box," he growled, producing the wooden box from his robes.

"That is the heart of a pig, my king," the spectre in the mirror said, then faded back into the abyss.

"Damn!" Martin cursed. He never should've trusted Mr. David to get the job done. The man was much too quiet and soft to kill a child. Martin would never be fooled like that again. "I'll kill him myself," he muttered under his breath as he stood from his throne with a flourish. Martin chucked the box with the pig heart to the floor, uncaring to the way it clattered against the wall. Mr. David would pay dearly for his treachery, but he had to deal with his brat of a son first.

Martin hurried down, down, down, past the cellars and dungeons and into his secret lair, where his hobbies could be practiced with privacy. The floors were stained with blood, and various human bones were strewn about. Martin paid them no mind as he moved past, pulling out a spell book off the shelf.

There were so many different options that Martin was nearly giddy with excitement. Poison was going to be the method this time, but of what sort? There was a certain aesthetic quality to a poison apple, but there was something about poisoning a cup of tea that Martin found much too alluring to pass up. It wasn't too difficult to mix up the perfect poison and slip it into a tea bag. All that needed to be done was to stew the bag, and the poison would seep into the water. One sip, and the worthless prince would fall into the sleeping death, only broken by true love's first kiss. That was no cause for concern. The miners would think he was dead, and bury him. That would be the end of the threat to Martin's rule.

There was something awfully poetic about poisoned tea. Beautiful, even. What better way to murder his son?

But in order to get Malcolm to drink the tea, Martin needed to be unrecognizable. He would need another spell to disguise himself. Martin flipped through the book until he landed on the perfect spell. He would become an old peddler, unrecognizable to Malcolm, and helpless enough that the boy wouldn't be able to resist trying to help him in any way he could. Martin scoffed. Malcolm's naivety would be his downfall.

Martin swirled the elements together in the bottle, smirking as the colors changed and smoked poured out of the top. Once the smoke stopped, it was ready. Martin drank it all down, savoring the acidic taste. He gasped as he felt his body shift and change, becoming someone unrecognizable. A mirror - not a magic one - stood off to the side. Martin stepped over to it, and laughed.

"How perfect," he muttered under his breath, eyes widening at the change in his voice. He looked younger, with straight hair instead of curls. His voice was deep and husky, and Martin was sure that underneath the tattered rags he wore as clothes, the body would be decently muscled. He was a bit tanner as well, and the gray of his hair was more charcoal than white. Martin was sure that if he added a limp, Malcolm would be overcome with the need to help him. The boy had always had a bleeding heart, only this time, Martin would ensure that it was much more literal.

...

"Thank you, Malcolm," Gil said, taking the bowl from the prince and bringing it over to the sink. He'd take care of the dishes later. "That was good soup." And it had been. For all the prince claimed he'd never made soup before, it had turned out not bad at all.

"It was alright," JT muttered, crossing his arms and averting his gaze. Gil sat back down at the table just in time to see Malcolm blush at the praise and look away, as if he were rarely on the receiving end of a compliment. But that couldn't have been true. He was the prince. He must have been complimented far more often than anyone should, and yet, Malcolm seemed both uncomfortable with the praise, and to be basking in it. It was a strange dichotomy indeed.

"What's it like?" Edrisa asked. "Living at the palace, I mean. Got lots of princesses lining up for you?" She was too old for the boy, but she wagged her eyebrows and smirked nonetheless. Malcolm only blushed again.

"Well, my marriage was supposed to be arranged by my father..." he trailed off for a moment and looked away, before turning back and looking at Gil with that brightness in his expression that gave him his nickname. "But there is this one princess, Dani, that I would love to marry. Anyone could see how beautiful she is. She's the only one I want to be with." Malcolm shrugged, but the smile remained on his face.

"What's she like?" JT asked, before quickly looking away. "Not that I care."

Malcolm and Gil both chuckled, but Malcolm nodded and continued. "There's no one like her, anywhere at all."

"Does she love you too?" Edrisa asked, a whimsical look in her eyes.

"I don't know," Malcolm answered honestly. "We're best friends, but we've never talked about anything more. Neither one of us is free to marry someone of our own choosing. But she's so beautiful, and strong, and funny, and kind. She's perfect. I just hope that someday, I'll see her again."

The boy gazed off into the middle distance, a smile on his face that Gil knew all too well. He'd seen that smile on his own face whenever he stood in front of a mirror thinking of his beloved Jackie.

The clocked chimed, breaking all of them out of their reverie.

"Alright, kid," Gil said, standing up from the table and pushing his chair in. "The three of us have to go back to the mine tomorrow, so we need to be getting some sleep. JT will grab you a pillow and some blankets." He turned to JT, who was grumbling under his breath, but did as Gil had requested. The man could be quite grumpy, but he really did have a heart of gold deep down.

"Goodnight, Your Highness," Edrisa said as she climbed the stairs towards the bedroom. Malcolm smiled again and wished her the same.

"Are those cushions going to be okay, kid?" Gil asked him. "I will give you my bed if you'd rather have it."

"No," Malcolm immediately replied, horror in his voice. "Just because I'm a prince doesn't mean I'm going to force you out of your own bed. I'm already intruding in your house and forcing you to-."

"Hey, it's alright," Gil interrupted, resting his hands on the prince's shoulders. "I'm not asking you if you want the bed because you're my prince. I'm asking you because I'm an adult, and you're a child in my care. It's my job to look out for you, to protect you." Even as Gil said it, he didn't know where it was coming from. It was all true, but he felt more paternal towards the boy than he'd ever felt in his entire life.

Malcolm just looked up at him in confusion, as if he truly didn't understand what Gil was saying. He looked so lost, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the words to reply with and came up empty each time.

"The cushions by the window will be fine," Malcolm finally repeated with a nod, looking towards the cushions in question - looking anywhere but Gil.

"Are you sure?" Gil asked. He ducked his head to catch Malcolm's gaze. The boy finally made eye contact once again.

"I promise," he said. Gil smiled, taking a step back. That was good enough for him. As long as the blankets and pillow that JT brought down were acceptable, then Gil wouldn't feel bad about the prince not sleeping on an actual bed.

He turned towards the sound of someone walking down the stairs. "Here you go," JT muttered as he deposited the blankets and pillow on the cushions. He left without another word.

"Thank you," Malcolm called back. "Goodnight." JT only waved a hand, not even turning back around.

Gil took the liberty of arranging the cushions and pillow and blankets for Malcolm in the most comfortable way he could think of. Once it was to his satisfaction, he stepped back, and gestured for Malcolm to try it out.

"If you need anything, and I mean anything, I'll be right upstairs, at the bed closest to the door," Gil said.

Malcolm nodded, pulling the blankets around himself until he was sufficiently snuggled in them. "Thank you," he said again. "For everything. You didn't have to help me, or do anything for me, or-."

"Hey," Gil gently interrupted for the second time. "I am happy to help you, kid. Really." He smiled, hoping that the prince would see just how sincere he was being, for reasons he didn't even understand.

Malcolm blushed again, but nodded and closed his eyes, the blankets held in his hands, right under chin. He was curled up in a fetal position, conserving the most warmth.

"Goodnight, kid."

"Goodnight, Mr. Arroyo."

"Just Gil is fine," he said with a chuckle, quietly making his way upstairs. Gil paused to look back at the boy, but he was already asleep, clearly exhausted by the day's events. He couldn't help but smile.

...

When Malcolm awoke in the morning, it was to the smell of eggs cooking over the fire. He curled up even tighter for a moment, then stretched out, a small groan escaping his lips as he did so. The cushions were soft beneath him, and the blankets kept him warm. Malcolm wasn't sure he ever wanted to get up.

"Good morning, kid," Gil said from his place in the kitchen. He glanced over at Malcolm and gave him a soft smile. Malcolm wasn't sure when the last time his father had ever smiled at him like that was.

"Good morning, Mr. Arroyo," he replied around a yawn.

"If we can't call you 'Your Highness', then you have to drop the formalities too," Gil answered with a laugh. "It's just Gil."

Malcolm stood, and made his way over to Gil, but kept a blanket wrapped around himself. He wasn't quite ready to leave the warmth behind him. The wonderful smell of cooking eggs beckoned him forward, as well as the promise of more warmth by the fire.

"Did you sleep well?" Gil asked him.

"Much better than I usually do," Malcolm replied honestly. His sleep was often disturbed by both insomnia and nightmares so terrifying that they left him screaming, crying, and gasping for air. Those dreams were almost always about the cruelty of his father. It was nothing short of a miracle that Malcolm had been able to sleep at all after the attempted murder, much less sleep so soundly. Sometimes, pure exhaustion worked wonders.

Gil gave him a look that Malcolm couldn't quite decipher - something akin to concern or pity, or perhaps a combination of both, and Malcolm had no idea why Gil would care so much to experience either of the emotions - then turned back to the food in front of him.

"This is almost ready for you. My team and I will eat on the way to the mine," he said. Gil took the scrambled eggs off the pan and dished them out onto a plate, which he handed to Malcolm. JT and Edrisa came down the stairs a moment later.

"Ready to go, boss?" JT asked, grabbing his pickaxe from where he'd left it by the door.

"Those gems won't mine themselves," Edrisa added.

Gil waved them off, getting the rest of the eggs ready to bring with him. "We'll be back early today, and then we're gonna figure out what to do, alright?" he asked. Malcolm nodded. "In the meantime, stay here. Don't leave the cottage. Your father knows his way around a spellbook, he could do anything to try to lure you away if he realizes you're still alive. Promise me that you'll stay here, you'll stay safe?"

"I will," Malcolm answered, nodding again. "But I could always go with you," he suggested. He would've loved to see uncut gems being pulled from their rocky confines, and how amazing would it be to be the one to find a beautiful jewel?

"Absolutely not," Gil immediately responded. "It's back-breaking work, and it can be dangerous. Edrisa is lucky I even let her do it, but she's an adult who knows what she's doing. You are not. So, respectfully, Your Highness, but you will be staying here."

"Sorry you're gonna be so bored while we're gone," Edrisa said, seeming genuinely upset.

"He'll be fine," JT added with a roll of his eyes. "As long as he stays here. So stay here, okay, bro?" He made eye contact with Malcolm, and for just a moment, he swore he saw genuine concern in the man's eyes, if only for that one moment.

"We'll be back soon," Gil promised him once again, resting his hand on the back of Malcolm's neck. He then followed JT and Edrisa out the door. After standing there for a moment, Malcolm turned and moved back to his plate of eggs at the kitchen table. He ate almost all of them, thankful that they were bland. He didn't often eat breakfast, but he didn't want to waste what Gil had done for him.

But once the eggs were eaten and the plate cleaned, Malcolm was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do next. At the palace, there was always something he had to do, and on the rare occasion that there wasn't, he liked to spend his time outside in nature. But he'd promised Gil that he wouldn't leave the cottage, so that left him with very little to do. He could search around for a book, but he didn't want to rummage through their personal space unless he had to. He could always try baking. He'd seen it done a few times, and as long as he could find a recipe to follow, it couldn't have been too difficult.

Malcolm stood and went searching through the kitchen for some recipes. It would be wonderful if he could surprise Gil and the others with something delicious, just to thank them for their hospitality and kindness. Hopefully, even if the dish turned out terrible, the thought would mean something to them.

A few, painstaking hours later, the kitchen was a mess, and there was something that roughly resembled a pie sitting on the kitchen counter. Malcolm had given it his best effort, but would now be deciding that baking wasn't for him. He smiled and shook his head. At least he'd tried. He spent the next while cleaning up the mess he'd made.

Malcolm was almost finished cleaning when a scream split the air. He darted up, looking out the kitchen window. The scream sounded again. Malcolm dashed out the front door towards it, and was just cresting the hill past the cottage when he saw a man running towards him, terrified.

"Are you alright?" he asked as the man almost barreled into him. The man was sweating and panting, his eyes wide with fear.

"There was a bear, it was going to attack me, it was so big, I thought I was gonna die," the man said, a broken sob echoing his words.

"Well, you're alright now. You're okay," Malcolm insisted. "Would you like to come inside with me? I could get you some water, you could catch your breath," he offered. He'd already broken his promise to Gil to stay inside, so he may as well invite someone else in too. Malcolm stepped aside and gestured towards the cottage. The man nodded eagerly.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," he repeated. "I'm John, John Watkins." The man held out his hand for Malcolm to shake.

"I'm Bright," he replied, refraining from giving John his real name. At least he could do that for Gil, just in case. John smirked, but said nothing. As the two walked back towards the cottage, Malcolm was on the lookout for the bear, but he didn't see it anywhere. John's screaming had probably scared it away.

Malcolm led John inside, into the clean kitchen. He quickly fetched some water, and brought it over to the man, who was holding some tea bags.

"I can't thank you enough," John said. "I just bought this. It's the best tea in the kingdom. I want you to have a bag. It's Earl Gray." He held the bag out for Malcolm.

Slowly, Malcolm took it. "Thank you, but this really isn't necessary." He handed a glass of water to John, who drank it eagerly.

"No, I insist you try it."

Malcolm conceded, and began to heat the water. "What are you doing out so far into the woods, if you don't mind me asking?" he questioned the man. John was clad in old, dirty clothes that desperately needed to be repaired. His beard was scraggly, and his hair was in need of a trim.

"I'm just traveling from kingdom to kingdom, looking for work," John answered with a nod.

"I know some people who run a mine. Maybe they could give you a job," Malcolm suggested. He didn't really have any right to offer that, but he figured there wasn't any harm in mentioning it.

"That's okay," John replied, waving his hand. "I don't like to get my hands dirty if I can help it. At least not with dirt and rocks and mud."

The water came up to temperature soon after that. Malcolm promptly removed it, and poured some into a mug. He set the tea bag in the hot water, and smiled as the delicious smell of Earl Gray permeated the cottage. There wasn't much better than a good cup of tea.

"Would you like some?" Malcolm offered, turning back to John. The man looked at him with a smile and shook his head.

"No, you've been so kind to me, I want you to enjoy that," he said. Malcolm nodded and took the teabag out. "After you try this tea, you won't ever want any other tea again."

"I'll be the judge of that," Malcolm answered with a smile. He lifted the mug to his lips and took a small sip. It certainly did taste amazing. He took another one. "That is incredible." He took one more, then set it down to cool off a bit more.

"Is it really?" John asked, a curious look in his eyes.

Malcolm nodded with a smile, but suddenly found that his stomach was in knots. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten breakfast after all. He whimpered when a strike of pain flashed through his abdomen.

"I don't feel so good," he muttered, clutching his stomach. The pain was only growing. His head began to feel fuzzy, and his limbs suddenly weakened. "Something's wrong." Malcolm's legs gave out, sending him crashing to the floor. He cried out again as the pain continued to build.

"I know, boy," John said with a dark smile.

"What did you give me?" Malcolm whimpered as tears of pain began to stream down his face. John had to be working for his father. He'd been poisoned, and he was too weak to do anything to save himself. He was going to die. Malcolm let out another sob at the thought.

"Go to sleep, little Malcolm. Go to sleep."

As the darkness consumed him, Malcolm could hear John cackling, but his final thoughts were only for Dani. He should've told her the truth, and now it was too late.

...

"That's enough for today," Gil muttered to himself. He'd given both JT and Edrisa an approximate time to finish up at, so hopefully he wouldn't be waiting at the entrance to the mine for too long. He didn't want to stay at the mine any longer than he had to while the prince was alone at the cottage. The king had always been bloodthirsty and cruel, and knowing his propensity for magic, there was no telling what he might try to do to kill his son. Maybe Gil shouldn't have even left the boy at all. There was a knot in his stomach that refused to be loosened, as if something were very, very wrong.

Gil quickly made his way back to the surface. He needed to get back to the cottage. JT and Edrisa would figure it out once they saw that his horse was gone.

Just as Gil was taking his place atop his steed, his team appeared at the entrance.

"I just feel like something's wrong," Gil said. "I'm heading back to the cottage. Get back as soon as you can." He didn't give them time to reply before he took off at a quick trot, barely restraining himself from giving into the urge to go at a gallop. For all he knew, the kid was fine - and for all he knew, the kid was dead.

The birds were loud, so much louder than they usually were. But it didn't sound like their normal sweet songs. The birds sounded like they were screaming, as if something was horribly wrong, and they all knew it. The cacophony grew louder and louder the closer Gil got to the cottage, amplifying his fear that some horrible fate had befallen the young prince with a heart of gold.

He slid off his horse the moment he got to the cabin. His eyes caught a brief flash of movement, like someone running, but Gil was more focused on the outstretched arm he could glimpse on the floor.

"Malcolm!" he called out as he ran inside. Gil's heart dropped at what he saw: the prince, lying motionless on the floor, a broken teacup laying a foot away. "Malcolm," he breathed out again, falling to his knees next to the boy. He was already so pale, so unmoving. Loud footsteps sounded at the doorway. "Someone ran! Go find him!" Gil shouted out. One pair of footsteps retreated, the other ran closer until Edrisa appeared next to him. "You have to save him, please tell me you can save him," Gil pled with her.

Edrisa didn't say anything. She put her hand over Malcolm's nose and mouth for a several moments, then pressed her head against his chest. Finally, she pressed her fingers to the side of Malcolm's neck, right under his jaw. She didn't speak.

"No, no, there has to be something you can do!" Gil shouted at her. Edrisa shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.

"I'm sorry, he's gone," she said. "He's not breathing, and his heart isn't beating. He's gone." She turned away and bit her knuckles as tears began to fall.

"No, you're wrong," Gil said, even though he'd never known Edrisa to ever be wrong about something medical. He pulled Malcolm's limp form into his arms and repeated the same motions that Edrisa had performed. "You have to be wrong," he repeated, his voice breaking as his eyes filled with tears. "There has to be a way to bring him back."

"I'm so sorry," Edrisa repeated, freely sobbing.

Gil cradled Malcolm to his chest, the first tear falling. He was just a boy, an innocent, sweet, pure hearted, kind boy. Malcolm so completely encapsulated the word 'bright'. It wasn't fair. Gil rocked Malcolm's body - for it was only a body, Malcolm himself being dead and gone - back and forth as he began to sob. He'd promised the kid that he was going to protect him, and he'd failed. Gil couldn't save his wife, and he couldn't save his prince. Gil couldn't save anyone.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed, refusing to let go of the body. He hadn't been there to save him. He'd been too late. Gil pulled Malcolm even closer to him, touching their foreheads together as he continued to sob. He was already so much colder to the touch than he should've been. "I'm so sorry."

...

JT practically leapt back onto his horse, immediately urging the animal into a gallop as he followed the tracks towards the edge of the forest. Someone was running towards the cliff, probably trying to lose any trail he might be making on the rocky surface.

The dark clouds created a faux night, and thunder echoed above him. The oncoming storm would not deter JT from finding the prince's likely murderer. Up ahead, JT spotted him. The man was racing along the cliff's edge, but JT's horse was faster. Seeing JT quickly approaching, the man climbed up a rocky outcropping partially jutting over the edge of the cliff.

"What did you do to him?" JT shouted up to the man as rain began to fall, quickly soaking him to the bone. The man only laughed, an evil, cackling sound. Lightning flashed above them. The man pushed against the boulder, somehow breaking it free. JT's eyes widened, fearful for a moment that the boulder would roll down towards him, but somtimes, fate asserted its own justice.

Lightning flashed again and thunder boomed right with it, so loudly that JT's ears rang and bled. He could barely make out a shout above the ringing. Getting his horse to calm down, JT looked back up at the outcropping, and saw that the man was gone, as was the boulder, and most of the outcropping itself. He slid down off his steed and dashed towards the cliff. All he could see was fog, but he knew the man had gone over the edge, along with several tons of rock. Good riddance.

JT hopped back onto his horse and urged the animal back towards the cabin. Maybe things weren't so horrible after all. Maybe, somehow, the prince was still alive. Once he arrived back at the cottage, JT hesitated. If he didn't go inside, he wouldn't know. If he didn't go inside, Malcolm would still be alive, laughing and smiling and talking a mile a minute and annoying JT to no end. But life didn't work that way. JT didn't get to stay outside in the freezing rain just to keep himself from having to face the reality in front of him.

On shaking legs, JT got off his horse, and made his way to the door. With a deep breath, he opened it, and immediately wished he hadn't. Edrisa sat by the table with her head in her arms, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Gil sat on the floor with Malcolm in his arms, cradled against his chest. His boss was sobbing, wailing in grief. JT's eyes filled with tears as he sank to the floor, his legs refusing to hold his weight in light of their failure. The prince was dead. They were too late.

...

Dani continued to make her way through the woods, thankful for the peace and quiet. The kingdoms were in complete disarray. Prince Malcolm disappeared, then King Martin vanished only a day later. Everything was in chaos without them. There was talk from her own kingdom about conquering theirs in their absence, and squabbling from other nations over who had the right to assume rule. All Dani wanted was to find Malcolm. Mr. David had told her the truth about what the king had ordered him to do, so the only thing she could think to do was ride in the direction that he had said Malcolm had run and hope for the best. She couldn't imagine life without him.

Movement between the trees in the distance caught her eye. She brought her horse up to a trot as she approached the clearing, but halted the horse in time with the halting of her heart.

Before her, on a beautifully carved table, lay Malcolm. Flowers surrounded him. Two men and one woman looked on. All three of them were crying. Malcolm was dead.

Dani slipped off her horse and slowly approached. The three looked at her, but none of them said anything, likely registering the shock on her face as being from knowing the prince.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice breaking. She slowly stepped closer to her best friend's body.

"He was poisoned," a broken voice answered. Dani didn't bother to look to see which man had answered her. She took another step towards Malcolm. She had never told him the truth, and now it was too late. She would never hear his beautiful voice as he sang with the birds ever again. She would never hear his laugh or see his smile or bright blue eyes. Everything about him had been bright, and beautiful.

"Oh, Malcolm," she whispered as the first tears began to stream down her face. She stood over him, and brushed his hair off his forehead. It was so soft. "I've loved you for so long. Please come back to me," she begged. Her family would've listened to her had she asked them to pick Malcolm as her husband. Now it was too late. She would come of age soon, and her husband would not be the best friend she'd loved for years. Dani took in a shaking breath. Nothing was ever going to be the same. She bent down, and placed a soft, gentle kiss on Malcolm's soft, cold lips. "I'm sorry I waited so long," she said to him. "I'll always love you."

Dani's legs gave out from under her as the gravity of the situation sunk in. Her best friend was dead. She collapsed against the table where his body lay, and began to sob into her arm.

But only a moment later, she felt movement, and heard a sharp intake of breath from the people behind her. Slowly, Dani lifted her head, and watched, wide eyed, as Malcolm sat up, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.

"Malcolm," she breathed out, then launched herself at him, wrapping him in her arms. She didn't know what had happened, but she wasn't going to let him go. She moved her head just enough to kiss him again, for real. After a moment, he happily returned it, smiling into the kiss.

"Oh, kid," she heard from behind her. She finally pulled away, and Malcolm was swept up in the arms of the oldest man. "You're alright, you're okay now," he said, almost in a sob. He held Malcolm close to him, one hand in his hair, the other clutching him. Malcolm was returning the hug with a ferocity that Dani knew was born of his lack of physical contact with anyone at the palace.

"You must be Dani," the petite, dark haired woman asked her. Dani nodded. "It was only a spell, he wasn't even dead. True love's first kiss broke the spell." She smiled wildly, her face one of pure joy. Dani wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but she wasn't going to question it.

"I'm glad you're okay, kid," the other man said. He pulled Malcolm in for a quick hug before he stepped away with a nod.

"Your father's gone now," Dani said. "You can come home." Malcolm's face lit up with joy, too. The king being gone did mean that Malcolm would become king, but it also meant that he could marry whoever he chose. So away to his castle they would go, to be happy forever, she knew.

"You should come with us," Malcolm said, looking at his three friends. "For all you've done for me, I want you to come with me." He quickly looked away, as if nervous that they would say no.

"Of course, kid," the older man responded, a fond smile on his face. He looked at Malcolm they way that Martin should have, but never did.

"Someone has to make sure you don't take tea from strangers," the other man added. Malcolm blushed, but smiled. The woman was smiling and nodding too.

Yes, they would be happy. Spring had come, their love was new, the birds were singing, and soon, wedding bells would be ringing. Every dream that the two of them had ever had was about to come true.


End file.
